“How am I going to distract them?” she asked.
“For that,” he said, “you’ll need some twelve year old scotch.”
He led her back to his room and opened his closet. Stacked inside were cases upon cases of liquor.
“What the hell?”
He shrugged at the look she gave him. “A man can go through a lot of the devil’s water in ten years. All it takes is a little determination.”
He grabbed a half dozen bottles and instructed her to do the same. They took the stash out to the hallway and set them against the wall near the top of the stairs.
“What am I supposed to do? Get them drunk?”
“Molotov cocktails,” he answered as they hurried back to the bathroom. “You do know how to make them, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Good. There’s matches on the desk by the lantern. Rip strips of cloth from the bed sheet.” He climbed into the dumbwaiter, then asked for her pack. She hesitated before handing it over, which he shoved beneath his legs next to his own. The space in the lift was tight, even for him. Jessie wondered if she’d be able to fold herself up into a small enough ball and still be able to lower herself down.
He grabbed the rope. “It shouldn’t take much effort.”
“What if it breaks?”
He waved her off impatiently. “Give me about two minutes to get down to the basement. I’ll send it back up for you. Wait five minutes from the time I leave before coming down yourself. Five minutes. Oh, and try not to burn this part of the house down too quickly.” He gestured toward the stairs. “I’ll wait for your cue.”
Jessie slipped back down the hall. She could hear a metallic click from downstairs. Andy was fiddling with the safety on his gun.
“Still down there?” she called.
No one answered, but the clicking sound stopped.
“Just checking. Let me know if you need anything. I can ping out for pizza if you want.”
“Now that you mention it—”
“Shut up, Andy,” Jo said.
Jessie set up the bottles, each with a wick made from torn curtain, which was easier to rip than the sheets. She took a swig of the scotch, but spit most of it back out to douse the wicks. The stuff burned her mouth and made her eyes water. She couldn’t understand how anyone could ever get used to the nasty stuff enough to become an alcoholic like her mother. She didn’t even like the taste of beer.
“Got something for you guys,” she shouted, lighting the first two. The first went over the railing, but it got tangled up in the chandelier and bounced back onto the step, igniting the stairs as it went.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. Andy shouted the same thing in surprise. Already the wall beside the stairs was burning.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jo screamed.
“I’d rather torch myself than let you take me!” Jessie shouted back.
“Andy, stop her!”
She threw the second one further out. It landed in the middle of the living room with a brilliant flash, the blue flames spreading outward like a ripple in a pond before turning white.
“Damn it! I said stop her!”
“How? The fucking stairs are on fire!”
“Put it out!”
“With what?”
A shape passed in front of the flames, too quick for Jessie to see who it was. She lit a third. Now she stepped out onto the landing and aimed for the front door. The flames in the stairs rose halfway up the walls now. She couldn’t see through them, and a thick black smoke was gathering along the ceiling.
There was a loud bang and a sharp pain on her arm, like a wasp sting. She pressed a finger to it and found blood, then dove for the floor as another shot rang out.
“Stop shooting, asshole!” Jo screamed.
She had no idea if five minutes had passed. Gathering some of the remaining bottles in both her hands, she hurried into the bathroom. The cabinet was empty. The dumbwaiter was still at the bottom. And the rope—
It came loose in her hand when she pulled it.
Brother Walter had cut it.
Chapter 35
Henry Davenport stood in the doorway of the family game room and watched his daughter for several minutes. He was frowning, thinking When the hell did I lose control of everything?
Sienna was squirming on the floor like a worm. Like she was having some kind of seizure or something. Except that he knew she wasn’t, because every so often she’d get up onto her knees and adjust her clothing before flopping back down to resume what she was doing, which was mostly rubbing her wrists against her mouth.
He finally couldn’t stand watching anymore. “It’s late, sweetie. You can go to sleep; the sirens are off.”
Thankfully.
He was getting sick of hearing them. They gave him a migraine so he couldn’t think straight. And they were useless, going off when they weren’t needed, silent when they were.
It had been an inordinately long day at the office, spent putting out administrative fires, ensuring all the municipal departments had control of their assets. The police department was a disaster. He’d meant to chastise the captain for arresting the head of Necrotics Crimes, but with the Stream finally back on for good again and the infection being contained, he’d decided to wait.
It was a delicate situation when it came to the Daniels family. Arc’s relationship with them was a bit of a mystery to him. Why they hadn’t prosecuted the daughter for breaking in, then siccing their new Live Players on her after she’d returned. It all felt somehow contrived, as if this was all just part of something bigger. He just couldn’t figure out what it might be.
“See, honey?”
He waited to see if she’d respond. Unfortunately, the holographic projector was turned off, so he had no idea what she was doing. Or why she was acting like this.
She still didn’t answer.
“See, did you hear me? Turn off that game and go to bed.”
She was mumbling beneath her breath, cursing mostly. His parents would have skinned him alive if they’d ever heard him using such language when he was her age.
Kids these days, he thought. Shameful.
Yeah, like you’re one to talk.
It was true. He was a hypocrite, and he knew it, though he didn’t like to think about it. He was ashamed of himself, ashamed of his weaknesses.
Back when Arc had announced plans to open up a gaming arcade using the same technology they used in the military and civilian labor forces, the public had voiced a resounding no against the idea, just as they had with Arc’s previous attempt to exploit the tech for commercial sport hunting. It appeared for a while as if this new video game idea would suffer the same fate.
He hadn’t been in favor of it either, but then Arc came knocking on his door promising to help him win what was turning out to be a very difficult reelection bid. All he had to do was come out publicly in support of their efforts and talk about the economic advantages and they would guarantee his win. So he did.
They delivered as promised.
He was still not in favor of it — albeit, privately — when Siennah begged him for an invite into The Game. He wanted to tell her no. He didn’t like the idea of his daughter playing a game that promoted such violence. But somehow Arc found out about her. They told him that he should be thinking about a gubernatorial run in four years time. And out of the woodwork came all of these very powerful people who suddenly knew his name and wanted to speak with him about his higher aspirations. It made his head spin. How would it look, Arc’s people told him, if he didn’t even let his own daughter play The Game he had just publicly endorsed? Did he want to come across as wishy-washy?
At the time, he had had no idea how far-reaching Arc’s ambitions were, nor how broadly they were developing their Reanimation entertainment ecosystem. Only after he was fully committed did he learn of the whole underground virtual sex thing. It had come as a terrible shock, of course. But it didn’t take him long to become hooked.
And only slightly longer to go deeply into debt.
He regretted terribly ever having gotten into bed with the company. He wanted desperately to cut ties with them. He told himself that as soon as Siennah made enough money to dig them out of his hole, he would. Except he was spending it faster than she could make it.
“It’s after three o’clock in the morning, sweetie. You’ve been at it for hours.”
She sat up and began jerking her feet back and forth, as if she was trying to start a fire between her ankles. He wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing.
“Two days,” she muttered. “Two fucking days. Well, you bitch, you shouldn’t have waited so long to come back.”
Henry found himself disturbingly aroused by the scene.
“I see what you’re doing,” Siennah said.
He jerked his hand away from his crotch and backed further into the shadows, ashamed, before realizing she wasn’t talking to him.
“Siennah, honey?”
“Stop bothering me, Daddy.”
His little girl had never been like this growing up. She’d been so loving, so sweet, such a pleasure to be around.
Stop bothering me.
She’d never treated him with such disdain before. He blinked away the sting in his eyes, and realized that it was only recently that the nasty moods and rudeness had developed. The violence. The anger.
He’d noticed the bruises on his wife’s body, had at first dismissed them as self-inflicted, clumsiness. But he eventually had to accept them for what they were.
Almost intuitively, he knew that Siennah was their source. He told himself he’d talk to her about it, maybe even recommend a counselor. But he never did. He couldn’t. Nothing could change, not until he’d paid off his debts.
She stopped doing the thing with her feet and started ratcheting her wrists, holding them together above her head and yanking them down, again and again, jerking them hard, grunting and cursing with words that made his stomach go sour.
He did not find this part stimulating at all.
She suddenly let out a cry of triumph as her wrists burst apart. “Yes! Stupid bitch,” she uttered. “Thought that would hold me, did you?”
With a gleeful laugh, she reached up to her face. She looked like she was peeling off her skin. “I know you’re coming back, zombitch. Well, I’ll be waiting for you.”
The skin on her arms and the back of her neck glistened with sweat. Her whole shirt was soaked through, clinging to her body in places and in ways a father shouldn’t notice. And suddenly he wanted to be away from here.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He thought about the little fantasy world Arc had created for him.
Leave her alone.
He thought about going upstairs and waking Claire.
You’re a sick man, Henry. Sick. You need help.
“Daddy?”
His eyes snapped open. Siennah had removed the goggles and was staring at him, frowning.
“Are you having a heart attack?”
“What? No, I’m fine, dear,” he said, choking on his own tongue. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Just work,” he muttered. “I’m tired is all, overworked. It’s not good for my health.”
“Well, your breathing is distracting me.”
He nodded. “You shouldn’t be spending so much time playing. You need your rest.”
She watched him for a moment, her pale face never seeming to settle.
“Go to bed, honey. The sirens are off at last.”
She chuffed. “It’s not like there’s going to be school tomorrow.”
“You need to get some sleep.”
“You’re the one who needs rest.” She pulled the goggles back onto her face, dismissing him.
He paused just around the corner and listened. He could hear her getting back into her gaming gear.
“I know you’re coming back, bitch,” she said. “And when you do, I’ll be waiting. You’ll be begging me to die before I’m done with you.”
Henry Davenport’s terror bloomed inside of him. It so filled him, so consumed him, that sleep would not come that night. And when, in the dark, dead hours of the morning, the emergency sirens came back on, he almost sighed in relief.
But the Stream was still up and his daughter was still playing.
He tried to ping Arc. He wanted to tell them no more. But though he tried several of his contacts there, all of his attempts went straight to their voicemail boxes.
Chapter 36
The rope slithered through Jessie’s fingers and disappeared into the darkness of the shaft.
“Brother Walter? Damn it!”
She heard the rope coiling atop the dumbwaiter far below. Downstairs, Andy and Jo were shouting, yelling at each other to put out the flames, to get upstairs and capture her before the house burned to the ground. Ten million dollars was at stake.
But Jessie wasn’t planning on dying.
She ran out into the hallway. Already, the flames were licking at the ceiling at the top of the stairs, curling around the corner of the wall. An eerie red glow filled the place. Black smoke roiled above her like a living, breathing thing. She ran into her room and tore the sheets off the bed, then did the same in Brother Walter’s. She was furious with him but refused to let her anger make her lose control. There would be time for that later, after she got away. After she caught up with him.
Don’t waste your time.
She tied the corners of the four sheets together, producing one long knotted cord almost twenty feet long. But there was nothing to tie the end to. Her eyes darted to the fixtures on the sink and tub. Neither looked very stable. The sink itself was rickety, pulling away from the wall, and the tub was too far away and would require too much of her precious line. She didn’t relish the idea of dangling from the end and dropping into the darkness.
Angling her light upward inside the dumbwaiter shaft, she made out the pulley mounted into the ceiling. Tucking the end of her improvised rope into her belt, she climbed up and onto the lip of the opening. There was nothing else to provide footing, so she had to lean back against the opposite wall at a precarious angle. She could almost feel the emptiness beneath her back tugging at her, drawing her down.
The shouts sounded closer, like Jo and Andy were halfway up the stairs. They were probably beating back the flames with the coats from the stand in the hallway.
She inserted one end of her rope through the spokes of the pulley and tied it tight, then gave it an experimental tug. The pulley felt loose. Another tug and something small fell into her hair. She batted it away and it dropped to the bottom of the shaft with a small, metallic clatter.
Shining her Link up again she saw that one of the mounting screws had come out of the dry wood. Another was pulling free. If it did while she was climbing down, she might be lucky enough to survive the fall without breaking a leg, even from this height, but the pulley would kill her.
She raced back out into the hallway, only to find their shadows on the wall at the top of the stairs. They were only a few steps away from reaching her. And Brother Walter had taken the pistol and her sword.
She ran back into the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind her. There was nothing she could do now but risk the loose pulley. She gave it another pull and the second screw slipped further out, showering her face in rust and splinters of old wood.
“Search the rooms!” she heard Jo shout. “Shoot the bitch and throw her out the window.”
“We can’t kill her.”
“I don’t give a fuck anymore!”
A door from one of the rooms crashed in.
“Jessica!”
Brother Walter was calling her from the bottom of the shaft.
She ignored him. There was nothing he could do for her now. She scanned the tiny bathroom for some other way to escape or something to use as a weapon. The window above the tub was too small for her to slip out. She could rip the towel rods out of the wall and use them as makeshif
t short sticks, but she wasn’t very good at their use to defend herself. Besides, Jo and Andy had guns.
Her eyes lit on the shower curtain.
Too close quarters!
Another door crashed open beneath someone’s kick. “Check the closets, too,” Jo yelled.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to check!”
“And under the beds!”
Jessie tore the curtain down, then yanked the rod free.
“I heard something over here!” Andy shouted. “She’s at this end of the hall!”
Without bothering to untie the sheets from the pulley, Jessie knotted a loop about six feet down and slipped the rod through it. Then she tossed the other end of her makeshift rope down into the shaft.
The door to the adjacent room crashed open. “Jo, I said get your ass down here. She’s somewhere over here!”
“I’m coming!”
Jessie flung herself into the pitch dark shaft. For a split second as she fell, she thought it wouldn’t hold, but the rod wedged itself against the frame. Palms burning, she half slipped, half climbed down into the darkness. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She couldn’t tell how far she’d gone or how much further she had left.
“Hurry!” Brother Walter shouted again. He sounded so far away.
“I’m coming!”
“The top of the lift is a metal plate! You won’t be able to break through.”
The bathroom door crashed open, flooding the top of the shaft with light for only a moment before Jo’s shadow filled it. She gave a shriek of rage and triumph. “I found her!”
Metal glinted in her hand as she aimed her pistol down.
Jessie spun around and kicked off the back wall and crashed through the thin wooden door into the kitchen just as the blast shattered her eardrums. She heard the round ping off the top of the lift. Then she was on the floor inside the pantry, wooden shelves splintering against her weight and cans of food raining down on her.
“She got away!” Jo screamed. “Get back down stairs!”
Jessie didn’t wait to see if she’d been hit. She jumped to her feet and fled across the hall, crashing through the door into the basement.
S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) Page 98